Nightmares Again Become Reality
by bojangles25
Summary: Darrien Tabris has returned home, to the Alienage from which he was taken, a Grey Warden and the man leading the effort to unite Ferelden and defeat the Blight. No matter how strong he has become, however, he cannot escape the nightmares of his only true home. City elf origin, obviously.
1. Chapter 1

"Such darkness simply does not belong in your eyes, Warden."

Darrien turned to meet the amber eyes of the Antivan assassin to his right. He saw a genuine concern as alien as the darkness Zevran claimed didn't belong in his own eyes. While he counted Zevran among the few friends left to him in this world, Darrien had long ago grown accustomed to the assassin's lack of interest in serious discussion, a shared dislike that helped grow their friendship.

"Very true," Alistair chimed in. He offered an unsure smile. It was one of two expressions ever on his face, along with an unsure frown. "We have enough brooders at our side without you joining them." He glanced at the mage at their back.

The elf said nothing, his gaze never leaving the gate before him. On the other side, he could see others of his kind go about their business. _I do not want to walk past this gate,_ he thought. _I cannot go back in there. _

Alistair and Zevran approached the soldier standing guard at the gate. Only when they were gone did the familiar scent of the wild enter the air, followed by a familiar hand upon his shoulder. "They are quite right," Morrigan whispered, so only Darrien would hear. "Tis strange to see you cower before anything."

Darrien broke his eyes from the Alienage gates to glare at the woman behind him. "I am no coward."

Morrigan did not back away at the rare violence in his eyes. "This I know, as much as anyone. Yet here you stand, unwilling to take a simple step forward. It is time, Warden. Time to face your nightmares. We all face them at some point."

Darrien had faced enough nightmares at that Creator-damned estate. They still haunted him, even awake. Women screaming. Dead friends and blood upon stone. The naked fear in Shianni's eyes as he helped her up, Vaughan's life still dripping from the dagger in his hands. Everywhere he looked, he saw dead soldiers and dead friends and a life ripped away from him.

A squeeze upon his shoulder snapped Darrien from a trance he had not realized he fell into. "You are strong, Darrien," Morrigan whispered. "More than strong enough to face this." He wished to take her hand, take her mouth with his own, fall into a bed with her. He settled for a smile.

They quickly separated as Zevran returned, grinning lewdly. "You need not hide from me. I spot lust as quickly as I spot traps." When none laughed at his teasing, he pointed back where Alistair still spoke with the guard outside the Alienage gate. "He refuses us entry. Some business about containing a plague. Give me but a few moments and I can eliminate him with little notice."

"No," Darrien said firmly. "We have shed enough blood and brought enough attention upon ourselves since arriving."

He strode forward confidently, refusing to be afraid. Morrigan was right. After all he had seen, all he had done since the day Duncan whisked him away from the Alienage to become a Grey Warden, to be afraid now was ridiculous. Alistair backed away as Darrien approached, the look of disgust upon the guard's face helping greatly to focus the Warden.

"I don't bloody care who you are, no one enters by order of the Regent," the guard said. "Walk away, knife-ear."

The insult was easy to ignore. Darrien had heard more than enough in his life. "Why would you care if two elves, a woman, and a man who lowers himself to assist us risk catching this plague? We will simply be trapped with the rest and eventually die."

"I don't care. I'm following orders."

_I've got him,_ Darrien thought, fighting not to smile. "Damned shame you and you alone are forced to sit outside the gates, protecting a people you could not care less for the survival of."

"Bloody right. I should be out on the field with the others. Not fucking guarding your kind."

"Then go. Take the initiative. Refuse this duty so beneath your skill and dignity. Your superiors do not care about the elves either. They may even be impressed by your eagerness to fight for Loghain."

The guard eyed Darrien suspiciously, but there was no hiding the agreement he felt. "Fine. Go on, but don't expect to be allowed to leave."

Darrien allowed himself a slight smile then, which only grew when Alistair shook his head. "I'll never understand how you do that," he said.

"You should learn, and quickly," Darrien said. "You will be king soon, and required to make all manner of impassionate, convincing speeches."

Alistair shuddered, and they all laughed as they walked through the now open gate.

Darrien struggled for breath with every step into the Alienage. _Why is this so hard? I should be happier. I am home._ His steps slowed, his eyes taking in the sight before him. Trash covered the streets beside piles of waste. Beggars lined the streets in tattered clothing stained by travel and poverty. Those few he recognized looked to have aged years in the time since he had left. Recognition did not show on their faces as he passed.

"Zevran," the Warden choked out, "Go listen in on what's being said about this plague. Alistair, there's a shop nearby run by an old friend of mine named Alarith. Go ask him what he knows, but please don't mention my name."

Both men nodded their understanding and left to fulfill their duties. Darrien wasted no time ducking into the first alley he saw. Thankfully, no others occupied it. Morrigan followed as he dropped to his knees, breath short and ragged. _You are a Grey Warden, and a stronger man than this! Stop pitying yourself and do your duty!_ The words were faint and quickly carried away by the winds of anguish within his mind.

"What is wrong with me?" Darrien asked when Morrigan knelt beside him. "This is absurd!"

"Better you face your fear and your pain now than when we most need you to be strong."

Darrien could not bear to meet her eyes. _She is the only one I would think to show such weakness before, yet she is the one I would never want to see it._ "You must think me pathetic right now."

"No, Darrien, I do not," Morrigan said. "We all have our fears, and we all have moments of weakness. Even me."

As early as four months ago, Darrien would consider the possibility of Morrigan showing weakness absurd. How time and a pair of grimoires had changed that perception. "Still, I am sure this does nothing to excite you. I should not make a habit of such public displays of sorrow and fear."

Morrigan kept a neutral expression, turning up her chin. "Since you have voiced the sentiment first, I shall not bother denying it." To anyone else, the subtle lift at the corners of her mouth and the humor dancing in her golden eyes would have gone unnoticed.

Darrien stood wearily, stretching. Battle almost certainly awaited further into the Alienage, and he was already fighting exhaustion. "Let's go." Morrigan offered the slimmest of smiles and followed. Her hand gripped his ever so briefly.

* * *

_Morrigan approached, a frown on her face. __**Wonderful,**__ Darrien thought, wondering who had made the mistake of displeasing the witch today. Hardly a day seemed to pass where she did not find something to take offense over._

_The until-then joyful demeanor around the campfire grew muted, and Alistair was the first to walk away. By the time Morrigan stood over Darrien, only Sten and Zevran remained. "Warden, may I have a word?"_

"_Of course."_

_Morrigan cast a quick glance at the rest of the camp. "A private word?"_

_Zevran waggled his eyebrows suggestively, and Darrien laughed as he stood to follow the witch back over to her tent. Her own fire burned low, and Darrien instinctively tossed a pair of branches covered in dead leaves upon it. The flames licked at the new kindling eagerly. "Is something wrong?" the elf asked._

"_Not wrong…" she said hesitantly. "I simply have trouble expressing gratitude. Before my mother forced me into your cause, I had never had true cause to be grateful for anything another had done for me."_

"_Take your time," Darrien teased. Morrigan let her lack of appreciation be known with a withering glare, but he kept grinning. "Think nothing of it. I was simply helping a companion in need." He felt the heat in his cheeks and hoped it wasn't apparent._

"_That attitude absolutely infuriates me," Morrigan said, crossing her arms in front of the thin material barely covering her upper body. Her breasts pushed out, and Darrien fought not to stare. "You've done me a service, and should be rewarded. Companion or no."_

"_And you have the gall to accuse others of living in childish fantasy worlds? I can count the number of times I've been rewarded for a favor on one hand."_

_Morrigan only glared fiercer. "You are quickly eroding my desire to reward you, Warden." She stepped forward, and Darrien could swear she was swaying her hips suggestively. "I am no fool, Darrien. I see how you stare. I see the desire in your eyes. You should not blush like a shy maid about the subject. We are creatures of blood and flesh, with desire predestined to flow through our veins."_

_Darrien felt the tips of his ears burning. __**I must look a lustful fool.**__ He regained his composure quickly, a talent learned from necessity. No elf could live in Denerim long without learning to hide murderous anger, no more than any Warden could gain allies of those who looked at him as lower than the mabari at their feet. "This reward has peaked my interest."_

_Morrigan pouted, bottom lip begging for to be sucked and nibbled on. "Tis cold in my tent, all alone."_

_Darrien dared to step forward, risking being the butt of some cruel joke. "I would not want you to freeze."_

_The chuckle from Morrigan's lips nearly startled the blush from the elf's ears. "It just so happens I find you quite warm." Her lips met his._

* * *

The commotion reached Darrien's ears long before he could see the source. Zevran appeared as if from thin air, while Alistair's reappearance was not so quiet. Heavy plate had that problem. "It seems they are treating the sick elves in this building," Zevran informed. "Apparently not all of them are coming back, if the protests I've heard are any indication."

"Your friend says these healers are Tevinter mages," Alistair added. "Though he seems to believe they are helping."

Darrien watched the crowd, scanning the backs of heads until he spotted a familiar mess of red hair. _Shianni. Creators above, give me strength. _He stepped forward, the leather armor he wore weighing him down as heavily as plate.

"Go home," Shianni pleaded to the crowd. "The best thing you can do for your children is not trust these charlatans!"

A mage stepped forward, his ivory staff poking above his shoulder. Hair the color of rich soil lay was tied back in a ponytail. "Everyone, please remain calm," he said, voice earnest and compassionate to those who knew no better. We will help all we can today, so long as we are allowed to do so in orderly fashion.

"You're helping us, are you shem?!" Shianni spit angrily. _Calm yourself,_ Darrien thought. _Anger will not help._ "Like Valendrian, or my uncle Cyrion? You helped them, didn't you, helped them never to be seen again!"

"We've explained this to you before, girl," the mage said, remaining calm. _He is barely containing a smile,_ Darrien noticed. "Complaining will not persuade us to let you see the sick, so that you can carry the plague back into the Alienage."

"Quit trying to get us killed, Shianni," one of the elves waiting in line said. Darrien did not recognize him.

"If this spell of theirs works, why are half those quarantined perfectly healthy?" Shianni argued, desperation cracking her voice.

Darrien finally stepped forward. "Shianni? What is happening here?"

Shianni turned, and her face went pale. "I…I don't believe it. Darrien?"

The Warden could only smile nervously. "Hello Shi…"

His greeting was cut off as she rushed forward, wrapping her arms around his neck and burying her face in his shoulder. "Maker's breath! They said all the Grey Wardens died with the king. We thought…Valendrian held a funeral. After your wedding, things…I'm so happy to see you, Darrien."

"You're married?" Alistair asked, eying Shianni, presumably believing her to be my wife. Morrigan watched dispassionately, but Darrien could see the buried fire beneath the surface.

"Betrothed. I was made a Warden the day of my wedding." _A corpse on the ground. Blood dripping from a dagger. My betrothed frozen with fear._ "I'd rather not talk about it."

Alistair nodded. "I'm so happy you're home," Shianni said, separating herself from Darrien. "So much has happened. Let's go to your, well, what used to be your house. We can discuss everything there."

Darrien smiled. "That sounds nice. I would like to see my father."

A shadow passed over Shianni's face.

* * *

**I know the stuff ripped straight from the game is boring, and I will be trying my hardest to make it bearable to read. This will cover the time in the Alienage, with flashbacks and expanded scenarios to extend it. Any corrections in either events I got wrong or grammar and spelling are always appreciated and welcome. Hope you enjoy. **


	2. Chapter 2

A fire burned in the hearth, and comfortable rushes had been set on the floor. Darrien could feel neither as he sat in a rickety wooden chair, the beating of his heart drowning out whatever words came out of Soris' still moving lips. Whatever joy he had felt at seeing his cousin was gone.

Shianni placed a hand on Darrien's shoulder, resolve in her eyes. "They all may still be alive, your father included. We simply need to find where these mages have taken them."

"Nesaria arrived safely back in Highever?" He knew the young woman only briefly, but it still brought him joy to know someone had escaped this hell.

"Safe, but not happily," Shianni said. "The Couslands have been deposed and branded traitors. Arl Howe was awarded their terynir, and has ruled with a cruel, iron grip. I received a letter days ago, and she says she is avoiding the fists of those Howe left in charge."

Darrien managed a smirk. "Good thing that bastard is dead, then. I do not know these Couslands, but by everything Nesaria told me they were a just and fair family. Hopefully some of them still live to take Highever back." He leaned back, seeing the room for the first time since Shianni began ripping open old wounds and inflicting new ones as well. Zevran poured himself a cup of cheap wine and stared into the fire. Alistair watched out a window. Soris shifted his eyes back and forth between Darrien and Shianni, ever nervous and unsure of himself.

_Morrigan still eyes Shianni suspiciously, even knowing we are cousins,_ Darrien thought, seeing the chill in his lover's golden eyes. "You are sure this plague is a ruse?" he asked.

"There is no doubt in my mind," Shianni said. "These Tevinter take only the serviceable, and return very few. I have seen strong, healthy men taken and the sick and dying begging along the streets left alone. Whatever they take our people for, it is not to heal any illness."

_Even in the midst of a Blight, my people suffer worst of all. Perhaps those Creator-damned Dalish have the right of it._ "It has to be Loghain. This is no coincidence that Tevinter mages would take us now. Tell me where to start looking."

"The clinic where you found me. They claim to be taking the sick inside. If they are being moved afterwards, you should find some hint."

"Time to spill some blood then," Morrigan said. "I suppose your fellow elves are too weak to assist in a fight?"

Darrien glared coldly at the mage, who simply stared back. "We will not assault the clinic head-on. I remember a back entrance. How guarded is it?"

"Little at all," Shianni said. "One guard, maybe two if the growing mob bothers them."

Zevran stood and stretched. "Perhaps I am biased, but the stealthy method appeals more to me."

"I agree," Alistair said. Morrigan scoffed and walked towards the front door.

"Then it is decided. We will sneak inside through the back entrance and find out what we can. Take a few moments to prepare."

Shianni and Solis stayed by the fire while the rest of Darrien's group wandered off to sharpen blades and prepare themselves for certain battle. As much as he may wish it were not so, Darrien could not see a way in which they avoided bloodshed. "You've truly come into your own," Shianni said, smiling. "I always knew you were destined for great things."

Darrien shrugged. This life had not been his choice. "I've simply done what I was forced to if I wanted to survive."

"I don't believe that," Soris said. "You've always been the first to do what's right, and you've always inspired others. I'm not surprised at all to find you leading the Wardens."

_I should not be leading the Wardens,_ Darrien thought. He cast quick glance to where Alistair stood, examining his sword.

* * *

"_Will the two of you please stop arguing?" The elf's harsh tone seemed to startle his companions, who ceased their latest petty argument and looked his way. "Thank you. Now, Lothering, beautiful little shitpile. Where do you we go from here?"_

_Neither Alistair or Morrigan spoke, and Darrien felt his blood began to boil. __**They always have something to say until I ask for an opinion of substance.**__ The witch seemed to be awaiting permission to speak. "Morrigan?"_

"_I say confront your enemy immediately. Find this Loghain, and kill him. Gathering allies against the Blight and using your treaties shall prove easier without his interference."_

"_Oh, brilliant!" Alistair mocked. "It's not like he has the advantage of experience and an army and…"_

"_I was asked my opinion, and gave it. Tis more than you have offered, fool. Would you rather we stand here giving reasons something cannot be done until Loghain has solidified his power and the Blight has left us yet another group of skeletons?"_

"_Enough, please," Darrien said. "Do you have a plan, Alistair? You are the senior Warden between us, I should be following your lead, not the other way around."_

_Alistair at least had the grace to look away sheepishly. Until Morrigan laughed, that is. "Quiet witch!"_

"_Well, Alistair?" Darrien asked._

"_I…We should head for Redcliffe. Arl Eamon will help us."_

"_Or his wife will chase you off," Morrigan taunted._

_Darrien stepped between the two. "And these treaties? You would know where to find the dwarves and elves?" Alistair nodded. "Redcliffe it is. Morrigan, why don't you go ahead and observe."_

_The witch rolled her eyes and strode off. Alistair stared at his feet, shuffling at the dirt below. "I know nothing of being a Warden, Alistair" Darrien said. "You can claim not to know much as well, but you know more than me. You are my superior. You should be making these decisions and leading us into battle. Get a hold of yourself and start living up to your responsibilities."_

_Alistair's eyes shone with anger, but before he could respond, he looked past Darrien, to where Morrigan stood with arms crossed speaking to a group of armed men. They were clearly bandits. One did not live in an Alienage without knowing the look of bandits. _

"_If we let you pass, then this would be robbery, rather than a toll," the supposed bandit leader explained. "_

"_You have one more chance to remove yourself from my path before I start spilling your blood," Morrigan threatened, her matter-of-fact tone much more threatening than the poorly veiled threat the bandit delivered._

_Darrien stood back, watching Morrigan and the bandits trade threats and waiting for Alistair to assert himself. Instead, he shrunk away, even behind his elven companion. __**How is this man a Grey Warden?**__ "Move. Now." Darrien stepped beside Morrigan, whose hand had gripped the staff on her back. _

"_I try so hard to be a peaceful man," the bandit leader said wistfully. _

_They reached for steel, unable to strike before Morrigan had sent a cone of flame their way and Darrien had moved in among them, cutting at arms and legs where he saw them. His twin daggers came away drenched in blood, and half the bandit group lay dying on the highway. The others split their focus between Darrien and Morrigan._

_Darrien had just dodged a wild swing of a greatsword when he saw Morrigan fall to a knee. Steel reflected light as it swung fiercely towards her skull. __**Damn it, first town and already I'm losing my most valuable companion, **__Darrien thought, hurrying Morrigan's way. The bandit's blade met resistance, but not that of flesh and muscle as expected. An iron-banded wooden shield shoved the sword away, and Alistar fell the bandit with a stab into his heart. _

_The last bandit fell soon after, clutching at the wound in his throat. Darrien breathed heavily, his daggers growing heavier by the moment. He did not bother to wipe the blood before sheathing them. "Impressive," Morrigan said to the both of them. "I had expected much worse, and at least one of you to die."_

_Mentioning the brush with death Morrigan had faced would be pointless. "Give us time, we may actually be competent fighters in months' time. Maybe we could even occupy Loghain's attention for a few seconds before getting cut down."_

_The witch laughed cheerfully, and Alistair managed a small grin. "Hail the conquering Wardens!" he shouted. "We can't handle a darkspawn army, but hand us a few bandits and we shall be victorious!"_

_All three laughed, and continued walking towards Lothering proper. "Not bad, Alistair. You are quite the fighter."_

"_I try my best."_

"_Your best is quite capable. You should show that same confidence outside of battle. You could be quite the leader."_

_The mirth in Alistair's demeanor fled instantly, his mouth again setting in a grim line. __**Creators above,**__ Darrien thought with a roll of his eyes. __**This coward's going to make me do this myself.**_

* * *

Alistair was only recently taking the lead on a consistent basis, though he more often than not still deferred to Darrien._ This is actually a good opportunity for me to defer for once._ "You've become so strong," Shianni said. "Your mother would be so proud of you, cousin. Your father will be, when you find him."

"Speaking of my father, we should go," Darrien said, standing from his chair. "Please, if a fight breaks out, do not involve yourselves. I've lost enough already, and may have lost even more. Don't make me lose you two."

Soris nodded. "I'll stay here, so I'm not even tempted." He was not Darrien's worry.

Shianni was less compliant. "What if they assume the elves outside are helping you and attack them?"

_Damn it, she's right._ "Zevran, Alistair, wait among the crowd. If things turn violent, take care of it. Morrigan and I will search the clinic." Zevran and Alistair had shown a surprising chemistry, considering their difference in personality. "Let's find out what's happening here, before we miss our chance. Eamon would never forgive us."

As Shianni told them, a lone guard stood watch at the back entrance of the clinic. His eyelids drooped wearily, his body sagging from the weight of his armor, the heat of the day, and the boredom of his task. "What are the chances he falls for the same speech the guard outside the gate did?" Darrien joked.

"While I think little of the intelligence of Loghain's grunts," Morrigan said, "this one will view his task with more importance.

She was right, of course, but Darrien considered giving it a try anyway. He had begun to take a step towards the man when a dirty man in ragged clothing ran in his way. Darrien immediately recognized him as a war veteran he had given a few silvers to earlier. A second man walked slowly to join him. "Please sir, can you spare a few more coins for a fellow elf? Perhaps a gold piece?"

Morrigan scoffed. "Such a specific request from one so desperate."

"We are so hungry," the second elf said. "Take pity on a pair of veterans?"

Darrien swallowed the shame and disgust that crept into his throat. He could not find anger. He had seen too many reduced to lies far worse than these two were feeding him. "You can drop the act," he said.

The two beggars gave him quizzical looks, well-trained and nearly convincing. "Pardons, milord?"

"Do not call me that," Darrien said coldly. "I am no lord, and you should never use such a title with a fellow elf."

"Apologies m'lor…Warden."

Darrien removed a gold piece from his pouch. "Understand that I am giving you this knowing full well you are no veterans and will give you no more. I will return one day, and when I do you will not still be walking the streets begging. Take this, and make something of it."

The elf he had given the silvers to initially caught the gold when flipped his way. "Thank you. I am sorry. I take no pride in the lie, but it is the only way any would give me coin. I promise, when you return you will not find me here."

The two beggars made to leave, when Darrien grabbed the leader's arm. "I mean it. You can do a lot with gold. Find a shelter, find a friend, get some help."

Morrigan waited until the two were gone to speak. _Progress,_ Darrien thought amusedly. _Not so long ago she didn't care who she argued in front of._ "It baffles me how you can be so intelligent one moment, and so naïve the next. You realize those two will take your gold and waste it in a matter of days?"

"It's a risk I'm willing to take."

"Why? What benefit is there for you?"

Darrien faced her. "I've seen too many of my people reduced to begging, thieving, and whoring. Those two would soon turn to thieving and whoring without help. I have to at least try." Morrigan knew better than to argue. They had had this argument many times, and while Darrien knew she didn't understand his viewpoint, she at least respected it. "Think on a punishment. If I'm wrong, you can punish me for my mistake. If I'm right, you shall face punishment. Deal?"

Morrigan rolled her eyes. "Such inanity. Let us go about the business for which we find ourselves here." With long, purposeful strides, she made a beeline for the guard at the back entrance of the clinic.

* * *

_The bang of a door shoved open brought Darrien to his feet. He had nearly reached the dagger strapped beneath the nearby table when Shianni came running into the living room. Both he and his father relaxed. "Cousin? What's wrong?" Tears streamed down her face._

"_This entire Maker-damned Alienage, Denerim, humanity, everything!" she screamed. She looked around the house frantically, eventually storming towards the table. When her hand reached under, where the dagger was, Darrien stopped her. He received a punch to the jaw for his efforts. "Leave me be!"_

_Darrien's father rushed forward and grabbed Shianni from behind. "What is it? What's wrong?"_

_Shianni continued to fight against her uncle's grasp, until she could no longer. Her body shook as she sobbed, chest convulsing violently. "Meera. That shem bastard took her."_

"_Who?"_

"_Some disgusting, perverted merchant that has been selling his goods in the Alienage for some months now." Darrien was sure he knew who Shianni meant. "He's been supplying drugs to some of the younger girls and making them addicted. I'm sure he's been prostituting them as well. Meera left with him today."_

_The moment Darrien's father let go, Shianni again dove to retrieve the dagger. This time Darrien stopped her. "Stop, cousin."_

"_No! I will kill that fucking shem! He cannot get away with this!"_

"_And he won't," Darrien assured her calmly. "Please, this is not the way."_

_Shianni ceased attempting to retrieve the dagger. "Then what is the way?"_

"_Do you know where this merchant took the girls?" Shianni nodded. "Let's find Rulin. We can find them and bring them back."_

"_What do you think I was doing?"_

"_Preparing for murder. Murdering this shem is not the way. You will only bring trouble." Shianni's cold glare softened. "Let us find Rulin."_

"_Wait," Darrien's father said. He left for the bedroom, and returned with a blade wrapped in a small blanket. "Take this dagger. It was your mother's." _

_Darrien removed the blanket, and gazed in awe upon the dagger. The steel gleamed in the firelight, the edge splitting the pad of his thumb at the lightest touch. It was far and away the finest weapon he'd ever seen. "Are you sure?"_

"_If you are forced to fight, I feel more comfortable knowing you are armed appropriately. Your own dagger is adequate for fending off thieves at night, but not for men wearing armor." _

"_Uncle Cyrion, are you sure?" Shianni asked. Darrien had nearly asked this himself. Support was the last thing he had expected of his father._

"_Go. Hurry. Bring our people back."_

_The merchant's home was smaller than expected. Two floors, dilapidated wooden walls, three guards in front. Lamplight glowed dimly from the second floor windows. The first floor was dark. No city guards walked the street, though Rulin said their patrol route would take them this way throughout the night._

"_Basement?" Darrien asked._

"_He may have one of the girls with him, but yes, the basement," Rulin said. "We should enter through the back door and enter the basement from there. Agreed?" Both Shianni and Darrien nodded, taking their far more experienced companion's lead. "Do as I do, and we will have our people safe long before daybreak."_

_No guards kept an eye on the cellar door, and Rulin was able to pick the lock with ease. A dim light reached them from below. Rulin took the lead, with Shianni in the middle and Darrien taking up the rear. The cellar was small, with a single lamp burning against a wall. A table was covered in small pouches of powder. Inside a small cage, similar to a slightly taller dog kennel, were three young elves. _

"_Meera!" Shianni squeaked, stepping lightly towards the cage. Two locks secured the door. "Meera, are you okay?"_

_The young woman squinted through the bars of the cage. "Shianni? Why are you here?"_

"_Darrien and I came to help you. Is this everyone he took?"_

"_No. He has one more in his chambers with him." The others stood from the dirty stone floor. Vacant orbs sank into their skull where life should have been. Darrien had never seen such empty eyes. Rulin moved forward and went to work on the locks securing the cage._

_One lock clattered to the ground when a door opened above, followed by a gruff laugh. "You've earned your treat, elf. Continue to satisfy me and you'll never want again." _

_Darrien and his companions retreated into the shadows beside the stairs. Rage coursed through his body as the merchant descended, his captive beside him. The merchant would be considered attractive for a human, with the straight back and elegant gait of a man raised nobly. The elf at his side was anything but, her head and shoulders drooped and her eyes the same vacant pair as the others. The merchant led her to the table and lightly poured a powder in a line._

_Darrien did not realize he had moved until the merchant turned to face him. By then, it was too late. The bastard did not even have a chance to scream before Darrien's blade, the one his mother had used, was brought across the shem's throat. A spurt of blood splashed across Darrien's tunic. _

_Rulin yanked him hard by his arm, nearly pulling Darrien off his feet. "Maker's breath, you fucking fool!" A hard punch sent Darrien sprawling. "Take off the tunic. Give me the dagger."_

"_No. I'll take off the tunic but the dagger is mine." Darrien met Rulin's fiery glare with his own. "We should hurry before we are discovered." Rulin walked back towards the cage, mumbling insults under his breath._

* * *

_Who would have thought it would again be the rescue of our women that forced me from home,_ Darrien thought as he walked alongside Morrigan. _Perhaps Rulin was right. Maybe I'm just a fool._

"The bloody hell do you want?" the guard asked disinterested.

"I've been asked to assist in 'healing the sick elves,'" Morrigan lied. Darrien fought to keep the surprise from his expression. "Loghain's orders."

"I received no word of another mage arriving. Why not enter through the front?"

"Have you seen the crowd gathered there?" Morrigan questioned. "I'll not come any nearer to such filth than necessary."

The guard eyed Darrien suspiciously. "Who's this, then?"

"My slave. Surely the mages of the Tevinter will not object to an elven slave?"

"I can't imagine so." The guard eyed Morrigan and Darrien further, his eyes resting on Morrigan's cleavage more than a few times. He took a key and unlocked the door. "Go ahead. If things turn rough, another mage shall be useful.

Morrigan walked up the short staircase, smiling at the guard. Darrien didn't see the dagger until the shem was clutching at it. He fell to the ground with a thud. "Why did you bother with all the talk if you were just going to kill him?" Darrien asked.

"Because it is one less sword once we're inside and the battle begins. And we didn't have to break the lock."

Darrien smirked as Morrigan opened the door.


	3. Chapter 3

Darrien had been in very few clinics in his life. Besides luck in avoiding serious injury or illness, clinics in an Alienage were, by nature of their location, awful. Still, there had been times when visits were necessary, and he knew what a house of healing was supposed to look, and more importantly, smell like.

There wasn't even a mage, besides Morrigan, to be seen in the "clinic." Men in armor stood around, talking and laughing with each other. Two others were with Morrigan, who had somehow managed to talk herself into having them show her where the elves where. Darrien leaned against a wall and tried his hardest to appear inconspicuous.

If he could say one thing for certain, it was that no one sick was in the building. Not one person. The smell natural to the sick and dying was nonexistent, the frantic activity of healers moving about was nonexistent, there was nothing. He thought back to the others who came to the Alienage throughout his life, claiming they were there to help. _All were either conning us of what little coin we had, or taking us. Which are these?_

The front door opened, and the roar of voices swept through the building. A lone mage entered with a frown on his face. "Blasted elves. We should just take them all now." He looked over to where Darrien leaned against the wall. "Who is that?" he asked no in particular.

"The Regent sent another mage," one of three guards near a lone desk said. "This knife-ear is her slave."

The Tevinter mage glared at Darrien. Possible excuses ran through the elf's head, none of which were needed as Morrigan came strutting from the holding area, looking every bit as if she belonged. "Those cannot possibly be the finest specimens you've taken," she was saying. "Where are the rest?"

"Are you the one the Regent sent?" the Tevinter asked.

Morrigan met his eyes. "Yes."

"Why?"

"It is not your place to ask why," Morrigan said, nose upturned. "You are here because Loghain allows it, and I am here because he wants me to be. I would like to see the rest of the elves you have taken."

The Tevinter smirked. "Your elf is awfully well armed for a slave."

"So is every man in this building, and yourself. Why should I walk among angry elves without a weapon at my side?"

Darrien fought back a grin at how well Morrigan was lying. _She's been paying attention to the rest of us._ Unfortunately, it didn't appear the Tevinter mage was believing what she said. His fingers twitched, and one hand drifted towards the staff on his back. Darrien hooked his thumbs on his belt, ready to draw his daggers.

Shouts from outside the front door snapped the tension from the room. The unmistakable sounds of blades clashing and spells being cast could be heard. "You two, stay here!" the Tevinter mage shouted to two of the guards. "If any of them get inside, kill the elves."

Morrigan snapped her eyes to Darrien. "Stay with them," she said. _Here's your chance,_ her eyes seemed to say. With that, she joined the rest of those pouring out of the clinic to join the fight outside.

The guards shifted anxiously, fingers opening and closing around the hilts of their swords. Neither bothered to pay attention to the elf at their backs. Two quick slices of their throats and Darrien was alone in the clinic. He ran to the cages where the captive elves were held.

"Please," the oldest of the captives whispered as Darrien approached. Most of them were young and male, though a few modestly attractive young women were caged as well. "You must free us."

"He's one of them, I heard the witch say so," an angry young man with fire in his eyes and grinding teeth hissed.

"Even so, he can understand what awaits us if the Tevinters take us," the old man said. "Please, ser, surely you have not forsaken your people entirely?"

"No," Darrien said. "And I am not one of them." He hurried over to the cage and made quick work of the lock. "Do you know where they have taken the rest?"

Most the captives did not move once the cage was open, eying their liberator warily, but the old man did not, nor did the young woman with red hair who burst forward and wrapped her arms around Darrien. He gently held her as she sobbed. "Somewhere further in the alienage," the old man said. "I'm sorry. I don't know where."

He gently removed the young woman from Darrien. The others began to leave the cage, more than a few favoring injuries. "Stay here," Darrien said. "There's still fighting outside. I'll come back to let you know when it is safe to leave."

Darrien hurried to the desk, searching the drawers and spilling piled papers. There were ledgers with numbers, spell books, and poems. A slip of paper tucked beneath a large tome held a key. Darrien unfolded the note and began reading. A smirk passed over his face.

The thud of a body flung against the wall outside snapped the Warden back to attention. _There's still a fight to win. No time to waste. _He took his daggers in hand and rushed towards the clinic entrance.

* * *

"_Faster!" Darrien's mother shouted. "You must always be faster." She danced just out of range, a blur of cloth and steel and dark skin. Her fingers twirled her daggers with practiced ease. "One more time, Darrien. Remember, fast."_

_Darrien wiped sweat from his brow and took a deep breath. Anger clouded his sight. "Why? I can't catch you."_

"_Low chance of success should never dissuade effort. Otherwise many a good person would have never changed the world." Darrien's mother burst forward, clanging one of her daggers against his and planting a kiss on his cheek. "Come at me."_

_Darrien went at her, moving as fast as his little arms would let him. Even after four years he could hardly touch her, and even then only if she allowed it. "You're mother is a brilliant fighter," his father would tell him, "and you're still a boy of twelve. That you can hold your own at all is worth great pride." _

_He didn't feel any pride now, as he tried again and again to catch his mother, and failing each time. She never failed to shout encouragement, but after ending up sprawled on the ground with a mouthful of dirt, Darrien had enough. The daggers in his hand were flung to the ground and he stormed off._

_His mother found him crouched in a corner beside the fireplace. There was no wood or fire, and hadn't been for months. Darrien didn't look at his mother as she came close and crouched beside him. When he finally snuck a peek her way, she was sitting with her back against the wall and knees pulled up to her chest. That infuriatingly calm smile was on her face. "Ever the fiery personality, my child. How your grandparents would insist you are exactly like me."_

"_I don't want to talk to you," Darrien insisted stubbornly. Even as he said it he knew his anger was dissolving quicker than the shadows as noon approached._

"_Well that's too bad, because I love to talk to you." His mother planted another kiss on his cheek, much slower and less taunting than before. "You did very well today. I'm so proud of you."_

_Darrien scoffed. "Don't lie to me. There was nothing prideful about me today."_

"_I am always proud of you. You do need to get that temper under control, however."_

_This was not a new topic. "I know."_

_A rare frown passed over Darrien's mother's face. It quickly returned to a smile. The bang of the front door opening snapped both of them to attention as Darrien's father came rushing in. He appeared hesitant to speak when he saw Darrien. "Adaia, may I speak with you?"_

_She stayed calm as she stood and walked over to her husband. The two of them spoke in low hushed voices, occasionally sneaking glances back at their son. Darrien watched calmly, picking at a loose thread on his tunic. Eventually, his mother rushed outside. "Darrien, I need you to stay inside. Do not leave the house until your mother or I tell you it's safe. Understand?"_

_The boy nodded and his father made for the front door. Darrien waited until he felt sure neither of his parents would come back inside before hurrying to a window and opening the shutters. A large crowd was gathered near the vhenadahl, fire in their eyes and curses on their lips. Three humans stood near two carts, all three brandishing cheap iron swords._

"_Stay back, all of you!" one of them shouted, big and burly with a bald head. "I won't hesitate to kill you all!"_

"_You're a cheat, a swindler!" someone shouted. With so many bunched together, Darrien could not see who was speaking. _

_The crowd hushed slightly when Valendrian stepped forward. Even the Elder had barely suppressed anger in his eyes. "Please, just leave, all of you. Take you ill-gotten coin and never come back."_

"_How can you let these shem bastards rob us?!" a woman shouted._

"_Would you rather spill blood and bring the city guard upon us?" Valendrian argued calmly. "We will file a complaint and take the proper steps to have your possessions returned."_

"_You would place this in the hands of even more shems?" Gethon spat. "Maker's breath, have you lost your mind?"_

_Darrien felt the same anger, until he noticed a shadow moving among the carts, behind the humans and out of their sight. He smiled brightly, and hoped the Elder could keep the humans distracted long enough. _

"_If we resort to violence now, we are no better than these humans," Valendrian said. "We would only reaffirm their belief that elves are savages worth nothing more than contempt. Let us prove that we are more than this. I promise, your possessions shall be returned, but not through violence."_

_Darrien saw his mother reappear among the crowd, carrying a small sack. Valendrian looked her way and received a small nod in return. A chill like Darrien had never seen entered the Elder's eyes. "Leave. Now."_

_Not until the humans were gone did the mob turn their ire upon Valendrian. He remained calm, raising a hand to silence them. Darrien's mother joined Valendrian, twirling a necklace around a finger. "Is that mine?" Dilwyn asked, shocked._

"_Mmhmm." Darrien's mother tossed the necklace to its owner. Lines formed, and she continued handing back jewelry until the sack was empty. The smile never left her face. _

"_Why didn't the Elder have those humans killed?" Darrien asked his parents. "Who cares if they die. Humans are scum."_

_His mother frowned and pinched his cheeks. "You know that isn't true. Humans are no different from us. Some are good, some are bad."_

_Darrien scoffed. "How can you say that?"_

"_I know I need not tell you about the woman who saved me from the Arl's dungeons again?"_

"_No." Darrien had heard that story too many times. "That's one human woman, compared to everyone else."_

"_No, she is one of many I have met in my life, that we have all met in our lives. You will learn when the time comes to see the world for yourself. Humans are no more evil or good than ourselves." _

_Darrien nodded, used to the sermon from his mother. Maybe the day would eventually come where he believed it._

* * *

"Nice of you to join the fight," Zevran greeted when Darrien burst out of the clinic door. Two men converged on the assassin, greatswords held high. He dodged their strikes with ease and drove his sword through the back of one's neck and into the throat of the other. "Perhaps you can offer some help, yes?"

An arrow split the wood of the wall above Darrien's head. He ducked low and began moving among the crowd. Much to his dismay, he found elves fighting elves. Ignoring them the best he could, he began stabbing and slicing at every man in armor and Tevinter he could find. A mage sent a ball of fire high above Morrigan's head and Darrien fell him. Two more men with greatswords sprinted at Zevran, and each elf picked one to kill. Alistar fought off four men before smiting the mage who Shianni had argued with earlier.

Darrien found himself looking around frantically for long moments after the fight was over. Blood soaked into the dirt, only the latest layer in a long history of blood-fed soil. A hand on his shoulder broke him from the violence-frenzied stupor. "Did you find anything?" Alistair asked. He did not show concern for the chaos in Darrien's eyes. Anyone who had fought with him had grown used to it.

"They're being held in a warehouse past the apartments. I found a key with a note." Darrien produced said objects and handed them to his fellow Warden. "What the hell happened out here?"

" A few idiots began fighting, and when a guard came to stop them, he was punched. Steel was bared and it all escalated quickly from there. Sorry."

"Don't be sorry," Darrien said. "That's why I wanted you out here." He looked at a pair of dead elves nearby, collapsed atop a still groaning human with a pool of blood beneath him. "Creator-damned idiots. They'll never learn."

Morrigan snatched the note from Alistair's hand and read it over. "These were mere grunts, disposable and uncared for. Whoever guards the other captives shall be immensely more powerful than these men were."

"They shall be nothing before the might of two Grey Wardens, a scantily clad apostate, and their demonishly handsome Crow companion," Zevran said, ever the wise-cracker.

"Which way are the apartments?" Alistair asked.

Darrien took a moment to regain his bearings. The adrenaline of battle had not yet worn away. "This way." He didn't realize he was shaking until Alistair again placed a hand on his shoulder, concern in his gaze. "I'm fine. Just worried."

"Don't be," Alistair said, for once displaying the confidence Darrien usually displayed for both. "You want me to take the lead once we're inside?"

_Good_, Darrien thought. _I need to see this from you more, Alistair. _"If you'd like." Alistair placed a fist over his heart and bowed. Darrien smiled and returned the gesture.


	4. Chapter 4

**Thank you to those couple of people following. I was almost ready to say "screw it," but a couple of people is enough to keep going.**

**Elven translations: Umae=Uncle, Amae=Aunt, mamae= mother, aneth ara=a greeting, da'mi=little blade, emm'asha=my girl, vir dirthera=we tell the tales, emma lath=my love, ma serannas=my thanks, len'alas lath'din=dirty child no one loves, na'lin=your blood**

**All of them were taken from the Dragon Age wiki except Umae and Amae, which I just had be similar to mamae, so all credit goes to the wiki for them.  
**

* * *

"Bloody hell," Alistar whispered.

Yet another apartment spread before them, looking the same as the others. Empty. Not just empty either, an empty that suggested recent capture and no attempt to hide it. Every apartment so far had been the same. Chairs were tipped over, uneaten dinners rotted on tables, splintered wood marked spots where arrows had lodged in walls. Blood stained the floors, though there were no bodies.

Morrigan emptied a crate of its contents, placing the contents within the pouches at her waist. Darrien couldn't help but grimace. He had gotten used to his companions' sticky fingers, and understood the necessity, but this was different. These were elves they could still save Morrigan was stealing from.

"Should we bother searching any other apartments?" Zevran asked. "We'll only find the same and waste valuable time."

"No," Alistar said. Though there had been no conflict to test him, Darrien's fellow Warden was showing surprising comfort and decisiveness with his leadership. No glances to Darrien, no hesitation, only the strength he would need when he wore the crown. It was a smell but necessary step. "Let's hurry."

They had not gone far before Darrien called the party to a halt. "I want to look," he said, staring at the apartment number etched into the door.

"We've seen enough," Alistair said. "Every second that passes lessens our chances of finding the captives."

"Give me a few moments, that's all I need," Darrien pleaded. "You can wait out here, but I need to see."

The others shared questioning glances. "Go ahead," Alistair said.

Darrien inched the door open, a sudden apprehensiveness making his every movement heavy and weary. He stepped through the door and nearly slipped off his feet. His hand came up from the floor covered in crimson. He knew what he would find. There was no reason to expect differently. Still the tears came.

* * *

_Warmth. He always felt the warmth first, from the fire burning in the heath. It was the one of the few that had one. "Umae! Amae!" Darrien ran as fast as his little feet would carry him towards the pair sitting in their rocking chairs._

_Amae was the first to stand and greet him, her wrinkled face smiling. She was always smiling. "Aneth ara, da'mi." She turned to Darrien's mother. "And you as well, emm'asha."_

_Darrien's mother smiled and bowed. "I am always happy to see you."_

_Umae grumbled his own greeting, though he did not leave his chair. Darrien hurried over to hug the small grumbly man himself. Umae was his favorite. _

_Umae and Amae were not his real aunt and uncle, but that was what his mother called them, and everyone else that held them dear. They had once been Dalish, and often spoke the Elvish. Darrien didn't know what it all meant, but he tried his best to learn. _

_As always, they had sweets to eat. Darrien munched on cookies and candies while his mother listened intently to Amae's rambling stories he only partly understood. He tried his hardest, and understood more each time, but many more lessons would be required. Amae and Umae were always happy to help him learn Elvish, thankfully. They offered all who wanted to learn. "Our history and culture will only die if we allow it," they said._

_Darrien did not realize he had tuned out until a hand gently squeezed his shoulder. Amae looked down at him with an admonishing smile on her face. "Bored, da'mi?" He blushed ashamedly. "It is alright. Vir dirthera, but even we grow bored sometimes."_

"_Sorry, Amae."_

"_Your mamae tells me you were caught stealing."_

_Again, Darrien blushed ashamedly. "From a shem." As if that made it okay._

_Amae frowned. "That does not make it okay, da'mi. It only makes things worse."_

_Umae scoffed. "You were known to have quite the sticky fingers yourself, emma lath."_

_Darrien's mother laughed. "I didn't learn all I know by myself."_

_They all laughed, and began telling stories again. The sun neared its descent behind the walls before Darrien and his mother were ready to leave, stomachs full and cheeks aching from laughter and smiles. He always loved visiting Amae and Umae. Mamae was rarely happier than when she was after a few hours with them. _

"_Wait, da'mi," Umae said, shuffling over. In his hands was a gift wrapped in cloth. _

_Darrien took the item and unwrapped it. The breath left his lungs. "I can't take this."_

_Umae smiled happily. "Yes you can. Take it, da'mi."_

_The dagger was the one that used to hang on the wall above the fireplace. Only then did Darrien realize it was missing. Elvish writing that translated to, "We Defend Those We Love," was inscribed on the flat of the blade. The grip was rich leather dyed green. Even in his small hands the weapon swung light and natural, as if it belonged. _

"_You take that dagger, and you learn with it. You learn to fight and defend those you love."_

_Only after Umae spoke did Darrien realize he had spoken in Elvish, and Darrien had understood every word. "Ma serannas, Umae." _

_Umae smiled and wrapped an arm around Darrien's shoulders._

* * *

The elven Warden had lost that dagger at the Tower of Ishal, forced to watch helplessly as it spun off the bridge leading to the tower from the camp after a projectile knocked him off his feet. He walked towards the fireplace, and the two rocking chairs where Umae and Amae rocked the days away. A splatter of dried blood told the story Darrien did not want to hear. _Maybe they waited further on, along with Father and the Elder._

If Darrien's distress showed on his face, the others made no mention upon his exiting the apartment. They searched none of the other apartments, instead making a beeline for the exit. _How many others like Umae and Amae had been taken? How many others had lost all they loved to these shem bastards?_ Darrien clenched his fists and walked faster.

More waited outside the apartments, the same as the others. There were no mages among them, and all fell quickly at the blades and magic of the Wardens and their companions. We followed a trail into a warehouse, where a hard woman with ebony hair and a bow taller than her waited with more shem bastards.

"What is the meaning of this?" she asked, her voice confused and frightened. "We were told there would be no more interference from the authorities!"

Alistair stepped forward. Darrien watched proudly. "We've come for the elves," he said, deciding for the direct approach. Darrien wasn't sure it was the smartest move, but the raging wolf inside was happy for a chance to spill more blood. "Move or perish."

"You'll regret this," the woman said, voice even shakier. "We have been given dispensation to do our business here. From the Regent himself." A smile that could nto have been faker came to her lips. "Funny how the humans talk a great deal about how wrong slavery is, yet rid themselves of such ideals at the faintest scent of gold."

Only then did Darrien notice the angles of her face, and catch glimpses of her ears where they hid beneath long hair. He could not hold back this time. "You traitorous len'alas lath'din! Why? Why do this to your own kin? Na'lin!"

The woman faltered, but only for a moment. "Dispense with your language, I do not nor do I ever care to understand it. I am Tevinter first and a servant of the Minrathous Circle second, those are what matter to me. But enough, I am here to halt your slaughter."

Darrien lifted his blades, smiling viciously when the shems did so as well. Only Alistair's hand upon his wrist stopped the elf from charging forward. "We have killed all those behind us. You are but four. Leave, or join the rest in whatever hell awaits you."

Behind them, Morrigan held a ball of flame in her hands. Zevran was flipping his daggers in the air. _Refuse,_ Darrien begged in his mind. _Refuse so I can spill your blood, you fucking cowards._

"I am no fool. I can see that you are capable." The elven woman's voice cracked. She attempted to hide her fear with a condescending sneer. "Fine. I will let Caladrius deal with you while I fetch the Regent's men. If you're smart, you'll run."

She and her men moved hastily towards the door. Darrien couldn't let them just walk. Not all of them, anyways. With a lightning-quick flick of his wrist, he sent the dagger in his left hand twirling through the air to lodge in the throat of one of the traitor's friends. The others all gasped, the blood draining from their faces. "Whoops. Hand slipped," Darrien said. "Go on, I won't stop you." They broke into a run and burst from the warehouse."

Darrien retrieved his dagger and searched the body while Alistair and the others moved ahead. He could feel Morrigan behind him. "A bit brutal, don't you think?" she asked.

"You have a problem with what I did?"

"Not in the least. If I had my choice we would have killed them all. Such cold violence is unlike you, however."

Darrien shrugged. "Like you said, he deserved it."

Morrigan did not say another word, though he could see she wanted to. He made a promise to talk to her back at Eamon's estate. Serious talks were uncomfortable for both, but clearly she worried and he would need to assuage her fears. She rubbed his upper arm and offered a small smile. Darrien kissed her lightly on the cheek. "Once more into the flames," she said.

Darrien chuckled. "Hopefully not. If this is our last than it likely means our death."

Morrigan laughed. "I suppose that's true."

* * *

A bald mage, Tevinter through and through, stepped forward with the air of a man unafraid of anything. To his right, three wooden cages were packed to the point of immobility with elven captives. At first glance, Darrien could not recognize his father or Valendrian among them.

"I am Caladrius," the bald mage said. Seven men stood by his side, swords and bows in hand. "And you, I assume, are the Grey Wardens I've heard so much about. Well met."

Alistair again stepped forward, leadership coming more and more naturally to him. "Release your captives, and we can discuss terms that allow you to keep your life."

Caladrius smirked. "My, it is no wonder Loghain cannot speak more than two sentences without mentioning you. He says 'Warden' more than he says 'gold' anymore.

"Than you understand why you should release the elves immediately."

"Fereldens are always so quick to bluster and threats. Is this truly how you wish to begin?

Morrigan snorted. "Ah, so slavery is the fad of the civilized these days?"

"Slavery is business," Caladrius said. "And I am a businessman. Nevertheless, you have made your point, and I well understand the danger I face in a fight. I have heard that you attempt to erode Loghain's support among Ferelden's nobility. A quite difficult task, I imagine, like washing away a mountain with an afternoon's storm. Perhaps I could offer assistance."

Darrien and his companions shared a brief look. "How?" Alistair asked.

"Truth be told, we were always operating on borrowed time," Caladrius continued. "Our gold has paid for many of Loghain's troops, but the end of the Landmeet makes us an inconvenience. So here is my offer; one hundred sovereigns from you for a letter with the seal of the Teryn of Gwaren upon it, implicating him in the slave trade. You allow us to leave immediately with our coin and our slaves."

Zevran snorted, and Darrien could see a fury alien to the assassin in his eyes. "I suggest you take a good, hard look into the eyes of the men and women in those cages before you agree to sell them to slavery, my friend."

"Deals are the foundation upon which civilization functions. I am offering you a more than fair deal."

Alistar's frown showed his own distress. He was the leader here. He would be the one to choose. Darrien bit his bottom lip and he tasted blood, trusting his fellow Warden. "No," Alistair stated, voice loud and clear.

The archers around Caladrius notched arrows to bowstrings. "A-alright," the mage stuttered. "We shall let you have the letter for free, and our profits, in exchange for the slaves. Or, if you prefer, we leave the slaves and take the gold."

"No," Alistair said again. "If you wish to leave, you leave the gold, the slaves, the letter, and leave with nothing but your own skins."

Caladrius sighed. "Unfortunate. It appears we must resort to violence. Pity, really. I have no desire to do Loghain's dirty work for him."

Darrien jumped the railing ahead as a blue barrier enveloped Caladrius.


	5. Chapter 5

"_Please?" Shianni pouted. "Please, please, please, Uncle Cyrion?"_

_Darrien grinned at the annoyance on his father's face. "Maker's breath, Shianni, you're nearly a grown woman. Stop pouting like a da'len. "_

_Shianni answered by crossing her arms and frowning. It was the same look she had broken everyone with at some point. Her parents, her aunt and uncle, Soris, Darrien, all of them had given in upon seeing that look. Shianni was definitely bringing out the big guns. "We just want to see. You can come with us to make sure we stay out of trouble."_

"_So my choices are to be punished by your whining or be punished by babysitting. I'll choose the one where I don't have to leave my chair."_

_Darrien knew enough to keep his mouth shut. He was not the manipulator Shianni was, and would likely bungle their chances. Staying quiet was hard, though. He really wanted to go. _

"_Aunt Adaia would have taken us," Shianni said, grasping for the jugular. _

_Even as the words left her mouth, the air stilled from the cruelty. Shianni knew she had been wrong; her eyes grew wide in unspoken apology. Darrien felt the tears come to his own eyes. He didn't quite feel hatred, but it was close enough that he could not think of another word strong enough._

_His father, bless his gentle soul, simply smiled. "I believe you are wrong about that. Nevertheless, if you truly want this so badly, I'll take you."_

_Shianni had the good grace at least not to be happy. "Thank you. I'm sorry." Darrien watched his father pat her on the back before walking outside._

_The crowd was already considerable when they arrived. The gleam of Templar armor was everywhere, the faces beneath the helmets unseen, as if there were not shems inside the armor; only the armor itself, animated by the Maker to carry out His justice. Darrien eyed them warily, untrusting. It was hard to feel the same awe others did considering his lack of belief in the Chantry's God._

_The platform stood high, the thick ropes swaying ominously in the breeze. Darrien saw they were not the only elves there, with more than a few others sprinkled among the rich silks of the almost exclusively noble audience. The clever placement did not go unnoticed. The executioners watching would see the elves and assume them to be servants._

_A hush fell across the crowd when the procession of Templars led the damned along their final steps. None of the mages spoke as ropes were secured around their necks and final words of condemnation and deliverance were given. Their eyes were blank, accepting of their fate. Darrien could not understand why none said a word._

_He barely managed to duck, unsure how he knew what was going to happen. Maybe it was the way the hair on his head seemed to stand straight. Next thing he knew bolts of lightning and sprays of ice and plumes of fire flew through the air, and the Templars were running to meet the attackers. The mages screamed their spells. The Templars screamed with each strike of their sword. The crowd, Darrien included, could only scream and run._

_Locks of red glowed brightly with every flash of magic. Shianni knelt beside another elf, pressing her hands to a wound on the older woman's breast. "Do you think we could carry her?" Darrien asked. He wasn't about to tell Shianni to leave the wounded woman. He didn't want to, either._

"_I-" Shianni was interrupted by a body hitting the stone nearby. A Templar sobbed in pain, clutching where his breastplate had been burned away. Flesh spit, crackled, and bled. "I think so."_

_Together, Darrien and his cousin managed to drag the woman away from the crowd, but they would not be able to do so much longer. "The alley," Darrien groaned. "We'll carry her over there and see what we can do about this wound. Hopefully we can hide until this is over." _

"_What about your father?"_

_Darrien looked back to the press of bodies, some alive, most not. It was impossible to tell in the madness whether any of those still trapped was his father. "I'll look. Let's get this woman to safety first."_

_The alley was not unoccupied. Others had the same idea, and crouched near the rear wall in hopes they would go unnoticed. Darrien and Shianni half carried, half dragged the now unconscious woman in their arms. They were nearly in the alley when the fight found them. A Templar roared as she lashed out with her shield, knocking a fat, bald mage to the ground. She raised her sword high, poised to deliver a killing blow._

_Darrien couldn't say for sure what had happened. One minute the Templar was there; the next all that remained of her was flesh and muscle and bone strewn about the ground. The mage burned, his flesh melting away beneath a barrier of purple flame. His eyes, a cold, dead black, focused on Darrien. _

_Then, with an inhuman screech, he was dead as well. Darrien looked up and saw his father standing above the abomination, his dagger dripping with blood. He crouched near the wounded woman and lifted her in his arms._

* * *

Darrien made a beeline for Caladrius, dodging and deflecting the arrows and swords directed his way. The mage was the key. Fell him and the rest would scatter. Behind him, he could hear his companions moving to join the fight.

Caladrius chanted, his staff raised high, and Darrien saw the blood spout from the eyes and mouth of an archer behind the mage, swirling in a macabre mist. The elven Warden had seen many a blood mage in his travels since Ostagar, but the sight never failed to disgust and horrify. More chanting, and Darrien felt his blood stir, puppet strings pulling unwillingly at his muscles.

An arrow deflected off the barrier around Caladrius, distracting him from his spell. Darrien raised a dagger in time to parry a sword strike before raising his other to sink into the weak spot beneath the soldier's arm. From the top of one of the set of stairs, Zevran was notching and firing arrows at a blistering pace, his bowstring wavering uncertainly with each projectile sent flying. Alistair had disposed of a giant covered head to toe in plate, and was now charging towards Caladrius. Morrigan engulfed a man in flames, cooking him within his armor.

Putting aside his anger, Darrien busied himself with cutting down the enemy numbers while Alistair, the only of them with Templar training, dealt with the mage. An archer fell from a cut across his throat. A small man somehow wielding an immense greatsword missed badly with a wild cut, and received seven gutting stabs in his stomach. A soldier with arrows embedded in his shield stalked towards Zevran, and Darrien cut into his back above the waist, sending him crumpling uselessly to the stone floor. The assassin pushed an arrow through the soldier's

A familiar grunt, and Darrien saw Alistair on his knees, the skin below his right eye scorched and bleeding. Caladrius' barrier was down, his lips moving endlessly. Alistair struggled and yelled as his body was lifted off the ground. Steel glinted in torchlight within Caladrius' hand. "Zevran!" Darrien shouted.

Wood clacked on the stone, and Darrien saw the assassin preoccupied with the last of Caladrius' guard. Darrien began running, but he knew he would not reach Caladrius in time. Alistair continued to struggle, weaker than before. A trickle of blood fell from beneath his gauntlets to drip to the ground.

An icy stalagmite flew Caladrius' way; the mage was forced to withdraw his domination of Alistair to deflect it. This provided the brief moment Darrien needed to close the distance and sink his daggers into the slaver's chest. With a shout on his lips, Darrien removed a dagger and quickly stabbed back into the bastard's neck. The other was stabbed again into his stomach. Over and over he ripped his daggers into flesh, soaking Caladrius' robes with crimson. Blood covered him to the elbow.

Two pairs of arms grabbed Darrien and pulled him away, holding on as he struggled to break free. A familiar hand touched his cheek, and only then did he snap from the blood fury driving him mad. Morrigan stared down at him, concerned and… fearful? He had never seen her scared of anything. Even staring down high dragons and blood mages and soldiers outnumbering them five-to-one, he had never seen Morrigan with anything other than her self-confident sneer.

"I'm okay," Darrien breathed. "I'm good. I'm okay."

Alistair and Zevran were hesitant to release him, but a stern, assured look from Morrigan and they did. Darrien still needed a few moments for the remainder of his bloodlust to seep from his pores.

"Please, help us!" voices shouted.

In the fight, Darrien had nearly forgotten the reason they were here. The captive elves banged against their cage, pleading to be released. "Zevran," Alistair said. "Search for a key. Morrigan, deal with Darrien's wounds."

Darrien nearly asked what wounds, until a stinging, unrelenting pain lanced through his forehead and arm. A trickle of blood dripped onto his eyelid, which he barely closed in time to keep from his eye itself. He looked down at his arm, where more blood soaked into the leather of his armor.

Morrigan leaned over him, concern still flooding from her gaze. The typical disdain she showed while performing healing magic, which she only learned at Darrien's request and with great reluctance, was nonexistent. Warmth and the strange tingle of flesh and muscle knitting together spread through his forehead as his love began healing him.

"Darrien?"

The voice was raspy, worn thin by abuse both physical and emotional. The elf Warden recognized it all the same. His wounds went forgotten, his strength renewed. Zevran had found a key and opened the cages, and weak bodies were slowly shuffling out of them. "Father?"

His face was thin and marked with scabs. His eyes were glassy and feverish. There was a previously unseen limp in his gait. Darrien could ask to his condition later. Right then, he wanted nothing more than to hug his father.

Both groaned with pain when they embraced, and quickly separated. "Maker's breath," Cyrion Tabris laughed. "If not for the pain I'd assume this was some cruel dream. My boy. I never thought I'd see you again. When I heard of Ostagar… Maker's breath."

"Are you alright?" Darrien said, looking over his father's weakened frame.

"I will be." His father looked at his companions, all trying their hardest not to appear overly interested. "What are you doing here? How did you find your way? Since when can you fight like that?"

Darrien laughed, freer and with more honesty than he had in months. "I _am _a Grey Warden now. And a pretty good one, too. We came to the Alienage to investigate rumors of a plague. Which you need not tell me was never the least bit true."

"No, we've seen more than enough 'plagues' in our lives to know they are almost always a farce. I guess I shouldn't be surprised that you are the ones to rescue us. After all, you are your mother's son."

Darrien smiled. "I try."

"You succeed. 'Proud' doesn't even begin to describe how she would feel seeing you now."

Father and son stared at each other, unsure what to say. Morrigan moved about the other freed elves, checking for wounds and assisting where she could. Alistair and Zevran stood nearby, offering salves and bandages when necessary.

"We should move," Alistair said. "Reinforcements surely must be close. I'd hate to have all our hard work go to waste now."

Darrien nodded. _Thank you, Alistair. I would have been a dreadful leader right now. I don't know why you are so reluctant to wear your crown. You were a king this day._

* * *

_The wounded elf woman's breathing slowed, her body losing the battle. Darrien watched his father try his hardest to stem the flow of blood in the woman's chest, the hairs on his arms matted by the crimson liquid. Shianni watched helplessly, arms twitching with desire to assist. Out in the courtyard, the sounds of battle had lessened, but not ended. _

_Darrien felt a rage course through his veins. The glint of a dagger in a sheath at his father's waist caught his eye. Darrien was sprinting from the alley with weapon in hand before his father realized what had happened. _

_Two Templars lay motionless below a muscular woman wearing robes the black of night. Her back was turned, her staff held horizontal and firing green orbs of poisoned magic where her fellow mages continued the fight. Darrien sprinted as fast as his gangly teenage legs would move, dagger raised high. _

_A weak pair of arms gripped around his arms, tripping him to the ground. Darrien turned to stab until he recognized the red locks loose from their typical restraints. "Let go, Shianni."_

_She shook her head. "Let it go. Drop that blade right now."_

_Darrien kicked and struggled to free himself, his anger only growing while Shianni held firm. He pounded on her back with his hands, not trying to hurt her but growing more frustrated with every passing second. He balled a hand into a fist, ready to bring it down on Shianni's shoulder, when a deafening, death-filled scream filled the air._

_A thin, elder woman staggered past Darrien and Shianni, her robes tattered and ripped and clutching at a wound in her side. Her staff identified her as a mage, but she appeared barely able to keep hold of the weapon. "No," she whispered, the scream having robbed her of the last of her voice. "No."_

_Plate armor clinked heavily. A Templar gave chase, a strange heavenly glow around his body. Shianni's face went pale. She rolled away, still keeping her hold on Darrien and dragging him with her, moments before the elder mage… exploded. There was no other way to describe it. One moment she was there, the next all that remained was a grizzly stain in the dirt. _

_The fight ended moments later, but Darrien's eyes never left the spot where the mage had stood. Eventually, a warm hand gently guided his face away. Shianni held back tears, her lips moving but the words not reaching his ears. Two strong hands lifted Darrien to his feet; his father frowned. "We need to leave."_

_Darrien nodded._


End file.
